


The Servant of Your Heart

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Related, Drama, Fights, Friendship, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 13:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16265600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: As the threat of the Dominion looms large over the station, Doctor Julian Bashir and tailor and spy Elim Garak must make some tough decisions regarding love, loyalty, and the meaning of duty. Each will be forced to sacrifice, but in the end, is the price too high?





	The Servant of Your Heart

**Part I**

_Garak_  
Julian's Private Quarters  
2371 

The heap of blankets covering Julian's bed stirred slightly. Garak was now awake, that transitional moment for him always nearly instantaneous. His Cardassian eyes had no trouble penetrating the deep gloom. With minimal shifting, he managed to encourage his still slumbering lover into his embrace, Julian's head in the hollow of shoulder and chest, a bare arm and leg snaking over Garak's torso and thighs. Stroking his fingertips delicately over Julian's shoulder and down the length of his exposed back, he coaxed the man to wakefulness. He still marveled at how the doctor awoke in increments, as though parts of his brain came to awareness more quickly than other parts, one of their many differences that secretly delighted him. He looked down into upturned brown eyes, aware that to Julian's perception, his face was currently little more than shadow.

“Mnh,” the doctor protested, his arm tightening in its hold. “Is it really morning already?”

“I'm afraid so,” Garak said, tipping his chin until the man's wavy hair tickled his lips. “What time are they expecting you to report to the docking ring?” he asked.

“0700 sharp,” came the glum reply. “I wish they'd allow you to come along.”

Garak allowed himself a small smile and pressed it to the top of Julian's head. “I'm just as glad they haven't considered it. They'd simply try to put me to work, and before long I'd feel in over my head and completely useless. What place does a tailor have aboard a warship?” 

Julian's snorted laughter tickled his scales and pectoral ridge. “You never tire of that game, do you?” he asked, lifting his head and inadvertently letting cold air under their warm cocoon of blankets.

Making a soft sound of protest, the tailor reached up and sealed the breach. “No more than you,” he said. “I'd love to be able to tell you that I awoke in time for us to have a more proper send off for you, but I'm afraid I didn't. If you want to be on time, you're going to have to hurry.”

“Well, then,” the doctor said, bending to nibble along the ridge conveniently in reach, “you will simply have to use some of the down time you'll have while I'm away concocting a plan to make it up to me.”

“After last night, I'm surprised you can say that to me with a straight face,” he replied drolly.

“After last night, I'll be surprised if I can do anything straight for some time,” Julian said smartly. “Nonetheless, I expect you won't disappoint.” He leaned up and kissed Garak soundly then slid from the bed, disturbing the blankets as little as possible.

Garak appreciated the consideration, even more when Julian called the lights up at just fifteen percent. It was still bright to his dark adjusted eyes, but at least it didn't stab into his skull like the tip of a dirk. He watched with unabashed enjoyment while the well built, slender man moved naked about the room, gathering all of his fallen clothing and passing it to him under the blankets. “You really expect me to dress without showering?” he asked.

Julian's lips pursed with amusement. “You're such a bundle of contradictions. You clearly have no issue with getting messy, and you don't insist on jumping right into the shower after even our most strenuous exertions, but you won't put your clothes on without a shower?”

Reluctantly, Garak sat up to face the chill of the room. “If you spent as much time making your clothing as I've spent on mine, it would make perfect sense to you, Doctor,” he said primly. “Besides, I was thinking we could shower together.”

“Since you put it that way...”

They spent the rest of their brief time left together performing what Garak privately thought of as the dance of polite lies, with Julian assuring him that he had no reason to worry for his safety and Garak in turn giving assurances that worry was the farthest thing from his mind. He had a backlog of work to keep him busy, and he knew that they wouldn't be gone overly long. He had every confidence that they would succeed in whatever it was they were endeavoring to do. Julian, of course, regretted that he couldn't just come out and tell Garak what that was, but it was a matter of Starfleet security. Surely he understood. Of course he did, and he'd never put Julian in such an awkward position as to ask!

He had learned over time that the best way to handle any sort of leave taking with the younger human was to keep it simple and light, the proverbial difference between the cut of a scalpel and that of a saw. As soon as he left his lover's quarters, he dropped all pretense of levity. The truth was that the growing threat of invasion had him deeply concerned, and much of that concern centered around his own safety. The others, if necessary, could flee Deep Space Nine and be reasonably assured that at least for some time, they would be safe again. Garak had no such assurances. If he went anywhere but exactly where he was supposed to be, an entire fleet of Federation warships wouldn't prevent the lone assassin in the dark that he knew would find him.

The Promenade was more deserted than he had seen it since the end of the occupation. While he did have a backlog of some work, he wondered if the customers would even be around to pick up their finished products when all was said and done. He couldn't blame any of them, not the Bajorans retreating back to Bajor, nor the other aliens who were booking passage away on any available transports that they could. He would have already done the same if the option were available to him with the promise to write Julian when he was settled. He was not one for heroics and last stands. While they might make entertaining reading for some whose lives lacked sufficient stimulation and excitement, for him heroics was just a synonym for stupidity, and last stands were for those who lacked the wit to escape a situation before they found their backs to the wall.

He worked on his backlog for most of the day. Only when he was sure that the Defiant had departed the station for the Gamma Quadrant with most of the senior Starfleet staff and some of the Bajoran staff aboard did he risk sending a coded transmission to his clandestine contact on Cardassia. He never received anything more than an acknowledgment of his transmissions for his trouble, and sometimes he didn't even receive that. Still, it made him feel useful in a small way to know that despite his exile, he did his part in service to the state. Who better to know the developing situation with the mysterious Dominion than someone close to the front lines? 

If his dear Julian knew just how much he gleaned from their seemingly innocent conversations, he would probably never speak to Garak again out of fear of revealing more. Garak didn't have to ask questions or hear anything specific to read between the lines. He sighed softly, reflecting that in his life he had experienced few things worse than the knowledge that he was a well made, finely honed tool crafted for a purpose he was now denied. Tain and the others were being short sighted not using a resource they had cultivated so carefully and for so long, and Cardassia could well suffer for it.  _You can keep me from my contacts and resources, but you'll never keep me from doing what I know I do best,_  he thought.

Feeling bolstered after sending his report on the status of Starfleet's intentions with the Dominion, he closed up shop for the day and decided to take a brief detour into Quark's. To his understanding, Quark was included on the Defiant's journey because of Ferengi business dealings. In a small way, it rankled the professional in him. Of course, he had worked hard to cultivate the image that he was nothing more than a tailor. He knew they didn't believe him, but he also knew they had no idea just how useful he could be and that they saw any potential benefit in trying to find out far outweighed by the detriment of his loyalties.

It took him a second or two to realize what felt out of place in the bar. Morn was nowhere to be seen. For that matter, aside from a smattering of tense looking employees, neither was anyone else. He strolled to the bar and took a seat opposite a very disconsolate looking Rom. “Hi, Garak,” Rom said. “Wh-what can I get for you?”

“I'll have a glass of kanar,” he said. “I see my business isn't the only one with a dearth of customers today.”

“Today, tomorrow, probably forever,” the Ferengi said glumly. He set Garak's glass before him and glanced around the empty space behind him. “It's not fair.”

Garak pulled his glass closer and lifted it for a sip. “Fair?” he asked. 

Rom nodded, his mouth setting in a bitter line. “All this time I've waited and worked in my brother's bar, hoping that some day it would be mine. Now, even if it happens, it'll just be a place run over by the Dominion!”

“Maybe it's time to come up with a new plan,” Garak said mildly. He genuinely liked Rom. The Ferengi had always been kind to him and deserved better than Quark for a brother and ambitions so curtailed by a lack of confidence.

“Like what?” he asked skeptically.

Garak peered at him a moment before answering, “I have every confidence that you'll figure it out,” and downing the rest of his kanar in a swallow. He set payment to the bar top.

“Y-you do?” Rom asked, eying him mistrustfully, as though he expected a hidden barb.

“I do,” he said, nodding and not elaborating. No amount of unsolicited advice was going to drag the man out of his self-imposed holding pattern. It was quite possible that this Dominion threat could be one of the best things that ever happened to Rom, he believed. As he had personally experienced, there was nothing like the prospect of losing one's entire accustomed way of life to inspire creative thinking.

Rom smiled hesitantly. “Thank you, Garak,” he said.

He inclined his head graciously and returned the smile. “I should be on my way. If things get too quiet tomorrow, come by the shop for a bit. My replicator is on its last legs, but I believe it can manage some tea.”

“I'll do that,” Rom said eagerly. “Maybe I can do something about the replicator, too.”

“That would be very kind of you,” he replied, having his doubts. “Good evening.”

Rom came by early the next day, bearing a small toolkit and asking Garak to direct him to the replicator. He guided him into his stock room and showed him the ailing device. “I've had a request in for some time now for someone to come have a look at it,” he said, “but I'm not high on the priority list, I'm afraid.” Quite the opposite he knew, if Chief O'Brien still felt the same level of hostility toward him as he had displayed in their last encounter.

“We have the same problem at the bar,” Rom told him, kneeling down and removing the panel covering all of the device's inner workings. “My brother says it's because Odo doesn't like him. I think it's Starfleet. They're just like that, thinking they're better than everybody else when they're just the same. Worse, even, because they try to pretend they're not.” He disconnected the power source and got to work.

As Garak watched the work in progress, he found himself startled by two things, the first being that Rom actually seemed to know what he was doing with that toolkit of his and the second that while he was working, he lost his tendency to stammer and hesitate. Not only that, his observation about Starfleet was pointedly accurate. “I try to tell the doctor the same thing all the time,” he said.

“He's nicer than most of them,” Rom said, digging in further and twisting his head to have a look at some of the wiring, “but he's still one of them.”

“That he is,” the Cardassian agreed. “Tell me, does Quark know you're this talented with machinery?”

“No,” the Ferengi replied. “He doesn't have any idea how often things break down in the bar. I just fix them when he's not there.”

“Why don't you tell him?” Garak asked, intrigued at this glimpse into a family dynamic he had never understood very well.

“Because then he'd expect it of me,” he answered, pulling out some wires with degraded insulation. “You're lucky I found these,” he said, reaching up to hand them to Garak. “With all this cloth back here, you could've had a bad fire.”

Garak dutifully took the wiring and gave it his attention. “Yes, it is fortunate you found that,” he agreed, but he was determined not to be deterred from his original line of questioning. With everyone of interest to him on the other side of the wormhole, he craved distraction. “Would it be so bad if he had higher expectations of you?” he asked.

Rom shot him an incredulous look. “He already expects too much, and there's barely enough time in the day to do what he asks. If he expected me to fix everything, too, I'd never have any time to myself.”

“But you fix everything anyway,” he pointed out.

“On my schedule, not Quark's.” He stood then and brushed at his hands. “You've got some burnt out components in there. I have a collection of spare parts at the bar. I'm going to go see if I have what you need. I'll be right back.”

Garak watched him hurry away with that odd, crabbed gait of his, bemused. There was much more to the Ferengi than met the eye. It was a shame he was wasting himself in that bar. It was also a shame he had never bothered before now to talk in depth to the man. He decided that he would carve out a little more time in his schedule for such socializing. Who knew what sorts of things he could learn from unguarded moments?

Rom returned with a tray loaded with various parts. Garak raised an eye ridge. “That much needs replacing?” he asked.

Rom shook his head. “No, but I don't know how many of these are in working order. I scavenge stuff the engineers throw out before it gets taken off for incineration. They're really wasteful sometimes. Just because one component doesn't work, they chuck it out when they could rebuild it instead.” He knelt back in place and began testing the parts.

Garak found himself smiling slightly. He could respect the ethic of frugality. How often had he made it out of a situation simply because he wasn't quick to part with his resources? He knew enough about what Rom was doing to realize that not only was he competent, he was good, really good. He worked with a surety of purpose that no mere tinkerer would possess. After less time than it would have taken Garak working on the same problem with limited resources, Rom had the replicator turning out a decent spice pudding in addition to red leaf tea. “Is that better than it was?” he asked Garak.

“Far better,” Garak replied. “I feel as though I should pay you for this.”

“I did it as a favor,” the Ferengi said, looking somewhat put out at the offer.

Truly, he was full of surprises. Garak inclined his head respectfully. “Then you have my thanks. At least stay for tea and pudding.” Rom beamed and nodded, and the two of them managed to make a pleasant time of it together.

Isolation and idleness had always been challenges for the tailor. He spent much of his time writing in his journal when he wasn't working and staring out his star port when he wasn't writing. Being the one left behind was always more difficult than being the one in the thick of things, he thought. He had new appreciation for all of the patient Cardassian wives whose husbands were married more to their careers than their spouses and thought it a shame that most of those career military men had such little respect or even understanding of just what price their families paid. Were the results worth it? He found himself wondering.  _Come back safely to me,_  became a familiar refrain for his solitude.

_Julian_  
USS Defiant  
Gamma Quadrant, heading Alpha Quadrant 

After the third hail to his cramped quarters, Julian relented. “Enter,” he said.

Dax stepped through the door and waited for it to slide shut behind her. She graced him with an understanding look. “I thought you might want to talk,” she offered.

He nodded, and she took the seat opposite him. It took him some time to formulate what was running through his mind into coherence. The knowledge that his experience of watching Garak shot to death by a Jem'Hadar right before his eyes was just a simulation wasn't much comfort at all. He feared that he would discover that something terrible had happened for real when they got back. If it hadn't, there were still some extremely disturbing implications to the scenario that filled him with nothing less than cold dread. “I know I didn't act like it,” he said, “but the moment Garak went down, I was lost.” He couldn't meet her gaze.

“I'm sure you were,” she said, leaning forward and covering his hand with hers. “But you stayed focused, and you did what you had to do. He'd expect nothing less of you.”

“I know,” he said, nodding and glad of the touch. He was shaken to his core. “The thing that really disturbs me is that most of us in that scenario were hooked in somehow. That Vorta had us linked so that our respective actions were what we'd really do in that situation.” He lifted his gaze to hers and held it. “The real Garak wasn't there, and yet I couldn't tell the difference.”

“You can't blame yourself for that,” she said. “Things were so tense...”

“No, Jadzia, you don't understand,” he interrupted her. “That's just it. There was no way for me to tell, which means that someone has been watching Garak very closely long enough to peg his mannerisms to a 't'. Not just to have his mannerisms down, but to extrapolate his most likely course of action. The Dominion is not only aware of Garak, it clearly views him as a threat.”

She inhaled slowly and sat back, now looking as concerned as he felt. “I see your point,” she said. “Garak isn't the only one they were able to simulate well enough to fool us. Benjamin found the Admiral quite believable, even if he was frustrated with her decisions. And I was completely taken in by their version of Eddington.”

“I'm frustrated. According to Starfleet protocol, I can't tell Garak anything about what we experienced here. I can't warn him of the danger he's in,” he said, feeling the unusual urge to hit something.

Dax smiled slightly. “I truly don't think you have to worry about that as much as you think you do. Garak is one of the wariest, most mistrustful people I've ever seen, not just in this lifetime, but in all my lifetimes. He may not be specifically aware that he's in the Dominion's sights, but you can believe he's not going to be taken by surprise. I think the rest of us are in worse danger than he is.”

“You're so comforting,” he said dryly.

“I have my moments,” she said with an impish quirk of her lips. “You really love him, don't you?”

“Beyond reason,” he said with a sigh.

“Why?” she asked, tipping her head. He started to bristle, but she held up her hands. “I'm not asking that to slight him. I just want to understand.”

“Sorry for being defensive,” he murmured, “but I hear enough versions of 'he's evil and can't be trusted' from Miles and even Major Kira. I know he can't be trusted in the way that most of us consider decent or right, but if you know him well enough, you can have a pretty good idea of what he will and won't do. He wasn't raised with Starfleet ethics, and it's not fair to expect him to have them.”

“I don't disagree with you,” she said reasonably. “I feel the same way about the Klingons, but that's not what I asked you.”

“Why does anyone fall in love, Dax? What is it that connects heart to heart? If I had the answer to that, I could retire from Starfleet a wealthy and famous man and solve a lot of problems before they ever even started. He...tries my patience to within a centimeter of my self-control. Half the time, no, over half the time he argues just for the sake of arguing, has exacting expectations, can be insufferably arrogant and condescending, moody, and downright curmudgeonly. He's cynical, sarcastic, and the most stubborn man I've ever met in my life.”

Dax laughed and fanned herself. “Be still my heart. With a list like that, who could possibly resist him?”

He snorted a soft laugh. “I know. To hear me talk, he's awful, but it's what's beneath all of that that takes my breath away. Just when I think he won't understand something that's really important to me, he grasps it better than people who have known me far longer. While he chides me for not being careful enough and criticizes me for being too trusting, when I do get hurt, his patience and compassion are bottomless. He has seen me at my worst and never flinched away, and he has cared for me as conscientiously as I would a fragile patient. He...doesn't let me get away with not expecting the most from myself, and he keeps my ego in check better than anyone I've ever known. What's not to love about that?”

Her smile softened. “Thank you, Julian,” she said.

“For what?” he asked, confused.

“Helping me to understand. Garak isn't the only one who worries about you, you know. I think after this conversation, at least where you and he are concerned, I'll worry a lot less. Do you want me to stay a while?”

“No, that's all right,” he said, standing and offering her a hand up. “If you really want to stop worrying, get to know him. I think you might be pleasantly surprised.”

She walked with him the short distance to the door and paused. “We'll see,” she said. “He makes me uncomfortable. I do believe he cares for you in his own way. He doesn't have that same sentiment when it comes to the rest of us.”

“He never will if you don't give him a chance,” he countered.

She smiled faintly and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I will consider it,” she said, “but I can't make any promises. Good night, Julian. Try to get some sleep.”

He tried to follow her advice to no avail. As the Defiant continued on its homeward course for the wormhole and Deep Space Nine, he realized he wouldn't truly be able to relax until he saw Garak with his own two eyes, assuming he wasn't still involved in some sort of mind game simulation.  _And I accuse Garak of paranoia,_  he thought ironically.

_Garak  
Garak's Clothiers_

Garak was putting the finishing touches on a new rack display when he heard rushed footsteps closing behind him. Whirling to face whoever it was, he barely had time to say, “Ah, my dear, you're back,” before being clenched in an embrace that would've been uncomfortable to anyone with less solid bone structure. He returned the embrace with a bit more care, somewhat taken aback at how fervent the doctor was in his affections. “It has hardly been that long,” he said, amused and trying to pull back. Julian wouldn't allow it. His amusement faded. “Tell me,” he said. “What is it?”

“I can't tell you,” the man replied, his voice muffled against Garak's shoulder. “I just...I need you. Right now.”

“But the shop,” Garak protested.

“Has no customers,” Julian said gruffly. 

Baffled, Garak nonetheless obliged. “Computer, close and lock doors,” he said. “At least let me take you to the back. I don't think the few people on the Promenade would appreciate a floor show.”

The doctor released him only to seize his hand and tug him toward the stock room. He was too confused by the uncharacteristic behavior to feel aroused. More than anything, he was worried. He followed in his wake and just for good measure closed the door to the stock room, too. “I'd be much more cooperative if I knew what this was about,” he said.

“It's about this,” Julian replied, kissing him crushingly. “And this,” he murmured against Garak's mouth, reaching down between them to stroke the tailor through his trousers. Garak realized he'd get no real answers as long as his lover was in the throes of whatever strong drive pushed him to such reckless abandon. His body responded well before his mind decided to back its decision wholeheartedly. The doctor took him quickly and roughly in a storm of passion that ended for both of them in record time. 

As Garak lay panting on the floor and staring up at the artificial light strip, again he wondered what that had been about. “You do realize you're going to have to tell me something,” he said a bit crossly, turning his head to look at the man sprawled partially naked at his side. 

“I don't ever want to lose you,” the doctor replied cryptically and laced his fingers in his to squeeze.

He didn't know what to say to that, but it filled him with trepidation. Whatever had happened on that mission to the Gamma Quadrant, it couldn't have been good. “How very morbid of you,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his undershirt and tunic, both crumpled together on the floor nearby. It was too cold for him to want to lie about for long in a state of partial undress. As much as he hated putting clean clothing over a soiled body, he hated the thought of traipsing half naked back to his quarters far worse.

“I wish I could tell you,” he said earnestly, also sitting up and starting to comport his uniform.

Garak watched his face as he spoke. He saw the minute pinching together of the brows, the drawing in of the lower lip. Whatever had happened pained the doctor much more than his regret at not being able to share it. He couldn't tell how it had anything to do with him, but perhaps he'd understand more in time. “We've been through that before,” he said gently. “You know I don't expect you to compromise your job on my behalf. Surely you can understand, however, how barging into the shop and ravishing me to within an inch of my life during work hours is troubling?”

“Ingrate,” the doctor said, his lips curving into a sly smile that Garak could tell was mostly feigned.

“No, my dear,” he said, leaning to kiss him lightly before climbing to his feet. “Never that. Everyone else made it back in one piece?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” he answered and stood up beside Garak. “We're all unharmed. I appreciate that you asked.”

“I know they're important to you,” he said. “In that context, how could I not care? As much as I missed you, I really don't want to set a precedent of closing the shop at odd hours of the day. With business as sparse as it is, I need all the hours here I can manage. Can we continue this conversation when I get off work?”

For some reason, that seemed to amuse the doctor. He gave Garak a final tight squeeze, a very naughty grope, and kissed him with such tender emotion that it stole his breath all over again. “Yes,” he said. “We certainly can. For what it's worth, I missed you, too.”

“It's worth quite a bit,” Garak assured him, opening the stock room door and allowing him to precede him out.

Over the next few days, he believed that he was able to piece together at least part of the puzzle. A conversation with Quark helped a little bit. He was disappointed to discover that the Ferengi had not been present with the rest of them for some of the trip. It didn't stop the bar owner from having his own theories. In particular, what he said of Odo's behavior on the return trip was of keen interest to Garak. It felt strange to be taken deeper into Quark's confidences and to share at least a bit of information with him in return.  _Common enemies make strange bedfellows,_  he thought.

Strangest of all so far was Julian's sudden announcement one evening that he and Garak had been invited to dinner by Commander Sisko. Garak took one look at his excited expression and knew that no amount of squirming and begging off would spare him from attending. Resigned, he told the doctor to accept for them and braced himself for an evening of supreme discomfort. Hearing who else would be there just made it worse.

He took off a bit early the afternoon of the engagement to give himself plenty of time to prepare, physically and mentally. It was important to him to look his best, as a good suit went a long way toward making him feel more confident. He also drank a single glass of kanar to take the edge off. It truly didn't matter to him what any of the people attending thought of him. It was what his presence could do to Julian that worried him. He believed that their relationship was a detriment to his long term career prospects by virtue of his very existence and race. The least he could do was to make certain that he said and did nothing to give the Commander or the others reason to believe that he was just using the doctor and that the doctor was too naïve to see it.

Despite expecting the door chime, it still startled him when it sounded. “Enter,” he said. He took one look at what his beautiful doctor was wearing and groaned. “You're actually wearing that?” he complained.

“You're such a flatterer,” Julian said dryly. “I feel so much better now.”

Garak sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, I had hoped that by now at least some of my taste would have rubbed off on you. How many times have I said this cut is all wrong for you? Don't even get me started on the hideous color combination.”

Seemingly exasperated and amused in equal measure, the doctor said, “Just hand me my spare uniform from the closet and give me five minutes to change.”

He tsked primly. “That's an improvement, I suppose, but only just. Hurry up and don't muss your hair, or we'll be late.”

_Julian_

For all of Garak's fussing, they were nowhere close to late, quite the opposite. They were the first to arrive. Jake greeted them at the door. “Hey, Doctor Bashir...Mr. Garak,” he said. “Come on in. Dad and I are still cooking.”

“Hello, Jake,” Julian said cheerfully. Garak inclined his head in that way he had come to associate with Cardassians in general, and the two of them stepped into the quarters. Delicious smells filled the air, and he was very surprised to see Commander Sisko actually cooking on hot plates.

“Welcome, Doctor, Mister Garak,” Sisko said with a smile. “Make yourselves comfortable. There's wine on the sideboard and a few hors d'oeuvres scattered about.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Julian said, returning the smile and moving to pour himself and Garak a glass of white wine. “Everything already smells amazing.”

“Indeed,” Garak added. “It was gracious of you to invite us.”

“It's my pleasure,” the man replied. Jake rejoined him, and the two continued the meal preparation.

Garak took a seat, looking rather formal and stiff while he waited for Julian. The doctor brought him his glass and sat beside him. “So,” he said just a little too brightly, “when you invited us, I didn't realize you meant that you would actually be cooking.”

“Dad loves to cook,” Jake said. “He's really good at it, too.”

“Thank you, son,” Sisko said, beaming. “It's a weakness of mine, a real home cooked meal.” He turned his attention to Garak. “Tell me, Mister Garak, have you ever had Cajun food?”

“I haven't,” the Cardassian answered between sips of wine. “Judging from the smell, I believe I should be sorry to have to say that. I'm looking forward to trying it. Now, is that a reference to some sort of regional cuisine, or a specific style of cooking?”

The doctor felt a small thrill. He hadn't known what to expect from Garak in this sort of situation, as he had never had the chance to see him in a purely social context with his co-workers. So far he seemed to be maybe not exactly enjoying himself but on his best behavior. He knew that he was scoring at least a few points with the Commander by showing an interest in something that obviously interested him.

“A little bit of both, actually,” Sisko answered. He quickly warmed to the subject, all too happily indulging Garak's curiosity. Julian was content to listen. He didn't want to interrupt the moment, so he sipped his wine and tried some of the cheese ball on the low table in front of him on a cracker.

The door chimed, and Jake moved to answer it. “Hi, Major Kira,” he said. “Come on in.”

The doctor stiffened slightly, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at Garak. The Bajoran woman followed Jake inside and visibly paused when she spotted the tailor seated beside the doctor. Perhaps he should have given her advance warning that Garak would be there, but he had been afraid that if he did, she might not come at all. The look she shot Julian could have bored a hole in the station hull. “I'm glad to see I'm not late,” she managed, bee lining for the wine.

“Not at all, Major,” Sisko said. “Will Odo still be joining us?”

“The last I spoke to him he said he intended to,” she replied. She turned with a full glass and eyed each seat, settling on the one furthest away from the Cardassian. She perched on the edge. “He probably got tied up in Security at the last minute.”

“I was under the impression that things were rather quiet of late,” Garak said mildly.

She glanced sharply at him, again cut a look at Julian, and said, “I really wouldn't know. Things come up.”

“That they do,” Julian cut in. “Just this morning, I wound up with three cases of Bolian rhino virus in the infirmary, even though the last Bolian left the station several days ago. Incubation periods, you know.”

“Fascinating,” Garak said in a way that made him want to elbow him. Had they not been in polite company, he would've. “The Commander was just explaining Cajun cuisine to me, Major,” he said pleasantly. “It has quite the intriguing history, a people forced to leave their ancestral home, settling anew, and being forced to move again. They trek across an entire continent, settle in a region most consider uninhabitable due to all manner of dangerous wildlife, and turn it into food. I do hope I got that right?” he asked, glancing at Sisko.

The Commander looked highly amused. “You did, Mister Garak; I believe in the most succinct way I have ever heard you speak.”

“Brevity is the soul of wit,” he quipped.

“That would explain a lot,” Kira said a bit flatly.

“As you see,” the tailor gestured to the Major with a broad smile.

“What is this wine?” Julian cut in desperately. “It's really very good.” At the rate those two were going, he could tell he'd be drinking a lot of it that night.

“Oh, it's just a nice table brand of Pinot Grigio,” Sisko answered. “I'll make sure you leave with a label if you really like it. I order it on a fairly regular basis. I can always include an order for you with mine.”

“I'd like that,” Julian said. He didn't like the way Garak and Kira were eying one another at all, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it without making things worse. Kira's attitude was to be expected, he supposed. It was Garak's that worried him. He knew that look. It meant trouble, mischief, and provocation. It meant that if Garak wasn't careful, he might get himself slapped. “Here,” he said, standing and plucking Garak's mostly empty glass from his hand. “Let me get you a refill.” He used the moment he had his back to the Major to glare daggers at his lover and mouth,  _Behave!_

“Thank you, my dear,” Garak said. The doctor couldn't tell if he intended to follow his order or not. Nothing had changed in his demeanor. “May I pass you anything, Major?” he asked, waiting until Julian was too far away to intervene. “You're seated quite the distance from the food.”

“No,” she said sharply, adding with some difficulty, “thank you. I'm fine.”

“Don't eat too much,” Jake said gamely. “You'll want to save room for the main course.”

“I wouldn't dream of spoiling my appetite,” Garak assured him.

Kira's mood improved visibly with the arrival of Odo. The changeling took an interest in the food preparation, heading over to watch Sisko and Jake up close. With Kira's attention now on the trio, Julian leaned close to Garak and murmured, “I don't know if it's that you can't help yourself or you won't, but please at least try not to provoke her and make things awkward.”

“My dear Doctor, I have no idea what you're talking about,” he said innocently, sipping his wine.

They turned their attention toward Odo, who was getting an impromptu lesson in souffle making. Everything seemed as though it would work out well after all, until Julian discovered that part of the meal included sauteed beets. “Beets?” he asked without enthusiasm. He should have known better, for the conversation went exactly as it did any time one expressed a dislike for a particular type of food. He was quickly informed that he simply hadn't had them prepared properly.

Dax's arrival gave Garak an opening. He murmured close to the doctor's ear, “Don't be difficult about the food. It's quite rude!”

He couldn't tell if he was serious or just taking the opportunity to goad him. Knowing Garak, the chance of either was around fifty/fifty. The pre-dinner banter continued until Dax discovered Jake's keyboard on the table and began playing around with it. At first, it didn't sound like much, but suddenly, she played a very lyrical refrain.

“That was lovely,” Julian said, surprised since she had expressed her belief that she had a complete lack of musical ability.

“Quiet!” she snapped, trying again unsuccessfully.

Taken aback, he blinked in surprise and stilled. No one said anything for a few uncomfortable moments. When she couldn't reproduce the piece again, she finally gave up, but he could tell she didn't want to. Jake broke the awkwardness with the welcome announcement that dinner was ready.

The food was every bit as delicious as the smells had promised. He did not like the beets, but he ate a few anyway, as much to satisfy Garak as Commander Sisko. He didn't have the heart to tell the man that to him, they just tasted like dirt, sweet dirt, but still dirt. Dax seemed a bit subdued and preoccupied for the rest of dinner, not at all like her. He determined that he would ask her later if something was wrong or if he had offended her in some way. He hoped that her attitude wasn't because of Garak's presence there. It didn't seem too likely. She was as friendly to the tailor as she was to any of them that night.

He was grateful that whatever mercurial mood had seized his lover early in the evening eased with the enjoyment of the meal. Garak made no further effort to provoke Major Kira in any way, and he contributed pleasantly to the dinner conversation without dominating it or becoming overbearing. It was as close to a normal social outing as Julian could have hoped for. They chose to leave at the same time as Dax, earlier than Major Kira and Odo so that they wouldn't be those people, the sort who were first arrivals and the last to depart and always so taxing to a host.

As they strolled back toward Julian's quarters, the closer of the two, they walked arm in arm. “I want to thank you,” Julian said, “for letting me have a pleasant evening out with you and coming along. I know you didn't want to.”

“I'm glad that I did,” Garak replied lightly. “It was most informative.”

Julian arched a brow. “Do you really expect me to believe you found the history of the Acadians and Cajun cuisine that intriguing?”

Garak sighed. “Every time I think you're making real progress, you say something like that and dash my hopes to pieces. It's very cruel of you, you know.”

He rolled his eyes and stopped before his door to key his entry code. Garak gestured for him to precede him inside. He did so, turning toward Garak once the door closed. “I can't imagine what else you may have learned. No one said anything earth shatteringly interesting, and aside from Dax's somewhat odd behavior, nothing of any real note happened.”

The Cardassian's lips quirked into the smile that Julian found his most maddening. It managed to imply that Garak knew something he didn't, felt that he ought to know it, and found it amusing and disappointing that he didn't all at once; not to mention it was mocking. He knew from over three years of association that nothing he said or did would pry the information out of the man once he got that smile. “Be that way, then,” he said in exasperation, heading to his bedroom to change out of his uniform.

He returned to find Garak gazing out the star port. For a few minutes, he stood quietly in his bedroom doorway and simply watched. At times the man held such profound stillness, usually in moments when he wasn't aware anyone was looking. It was hard to catch him like that. When Julian did, he felt as though he bore witness to a gulf of sadness and isolation that he was helpless to combat. No matter what he touched in Garak, he knew on an instinctive level that he never touched that. He doubted that there was a person alive who could, and he wondered if it would disappear were Garak able to return to his beloved Cardassia or if it was an indelible part of his character, forged long before his exile. 

To his surprise, he found that while he lost himself in thought, he had become the observed. “Such a look,” Garak said softly.

“I could say the same thing,” he replied, his false cheer ringing flat in his ears. He closed the distance between them and stood behind the man, slipping his arms about his waist and resting his chin on one of his shoulders. “What are you looking at out there?”

“I'm not,” the tailor said cryptically. He covered Julian's hands with both of his and didn't elaborate.

“Something...in here, then?” the doctor asked hesitantly, twisting his neck to press a kiss to Garak's temple so that he'd know what he meant.

Garak turned in his arms and smiled an odd smile. “You are learning after all,” he said. “Aren't you going to ask me what it is?”

Julian nuzzled him nose to nose. “No,” he said. “You'll tell me when you're ready, or you won't. I'm not going to ask.”

The Cardassian's smile deepened, his blue eyes shining. “Oh, my dear, we truly have made some progress. Now, let's go get sweaty so we have an excuse for pillow talk.”

He laughed, startled right out of his contemplative mood. As they headed for the bedroom, he wondered if that hadn't been exactly Garak's intention. Some of his manipulations were so much more subtle than others that it was always safest just to assume intent. 

**Part II**

_Garak  
Quark's Bar_

He had been left to his own devices again, this time with Julian taking an unexpected trip to Trill. As was always the case with these professional excursions, the tailor was left to put together incomplete pieces and draw his own conclusions. He knew it had something to do with Dax's increasingly strange behavior. He hoped the trip wouldn't end in tragedy, more for Julian's sake than the Trill's. It wasn't that he had anything against Dax. He just parsed out his concern judiciously.

He picked at his food without much of an appetite. The continued threat of a Dominion invasion hung over the entire station like a pall. The Replimat was completely deserted. At least at the bar, he had a little company in passing and a few people to watch.

He saw Odo enter the place from his vantage on the second floor. He thought that the changeling must be as bored as he with things so quiet and uneventful. On an impulse, he called, “Constable!” When Odo swiveled his head his way, he lifted his hand in a wave. The changeling paused, considering, and changed his direction from the bar to the stairs. Pleased with this turn of events, Garak waited patiently for him to arrive at his table. “Slow night?” he asked.

“Yes,” Odo grated. “Was there something in particular you needed, Garak?”

“Oh, no. I was simply saying hello.” He paused a beat and asked, “Have you ventured any further into cooking? You seemed to enjoy helping with the souffle at the dinner party.”

Odo gave him a searching look, his deep set blue eyes wary. “I haven't,” he said. “I know that you're aware that I don't eat.”

“Of course,” Garak said. “That doesn't mean that you can't cook for others.” He smiled pleasantly.

“Hmph,” Odo snorted. “And who would I cook for?”

“Good question,” the tailor said, pretending to give it some consideration. “How about Major Kira? She enjoyed your cooking, too. How did she put it? That you were...cute?”

Odo rolled his eyes and nodded his head slightly, realizing that he walked right into that one. “Good night, Garak,” he said rather pointedly. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Garak watched him leave with nothing short of glee. He was right in his suspicions. It was always nice to discover he hadn't lost his touch.

It was almost a week before the doctor returned with a healthy Dax in tow, and he took yet another trip shortly after that to Klaestron IV. Although he tried not to be, he found himself envious of the doctor's freedom. Aside from their one clandestine sojourn to Bajor to investigate Rugal, he had not set foot off the station since shortly before the end of the occupation. His trips during the occupation were no pleasure excursions, and they intruded on his present reality more than he cared to admit, even to himself. He knew that Julian didn't understand his impulse to goad Major Kira. He did. She was an unpleasant reminder of unpleasant things, and the accusation in her burning eyes every time she looked his way was like a sharp prod under his scales. Such discomfort always brought out the worst in him.

He adjusted to the tension in the environment just as he had always adapted to the changing circumstances of his life. As long as he was able to maintain some semblance of routine, he felt that he could keep his equilibrium. Returning to his shop after another enjoyable lunch with Julian, he worked through the afternoon. Just before he was about to close, he noticed an unusual prompt flashing on his terminal. With his heart racing, he instructed the computer to close and lock his doors, typed in his decryption code, and read the succinct message from his mysterious contact in the Order. He could hardly believe his eyes and knew that like it or not, he had to tell Julian right away.

_Julian  
Private Quarters_

The doctor paced, his stomach tied in knots. He had never felt so torn in his life than when Garak came to him in the infirmary and told him that Major Kira was being held by the Obsidian Order on Cardassia Prime. He knew that he had to tell Commander Sisko, and he knew that Garak must have known he'd have to do so. He wasn't at all happy when Odo showed up at his quarters, insisting that Garak come with him for a meeting with the Commander, alone. Had he placed his lover in danger? What other choice did he have?

Garak had been gone a long time. The thought struck him that perhaps he was done with his meeting with Sisko. “Computer, where is Garak?” he asked.

“Garak is on Habitat Level H-3, Chamber 901,” came the answer.

“Damn,” he breathed, hurrying out the door and running down the corridor. He was breathless by the time he reached the tailor's quarters. He hailed him and received no answer. 

Undeterred, he repeatedly pressed the button until Garak's voice came over the comm, sharper than he had ever heard it. “Go. Away!”

“Not happening,” he retorted. “Open the door, or I'll open it.” He waited several moments. “Have it your way,” he said tightly. “Computer, open lock, Medical Override code...”

He didn't have time to get it all out, the door suddenly sliding open to reveal a stranger with his lover's visage. He took a step back involuntarily, his body convinced of something his rational mind would never have believed, that Garak was about to attack him. The Cardassian made no further move, glaring at him with that frightening look for several long moments before deliberately turning his back on him and retreating back into his quarters. Julian followed, wondering if he was making a mistake.

Garak continued to the back. Keeping his distance, the doctor followed, only to find him packing a small bag. He was startled into asking, “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think?” he snarled.

His eyes widened. “They're taking you to Cardassia?”

“Your grasp of the obvious is stunning,” he said cruelly, sealing his luggage and setting it near his bedroom door. Julian stepped back to give him room.

“Garak,” he said, feeling completely helpless and appalled, “I had no choice. You know that.”

“I have no choice, either,” the man said, his rage so palpable Julian thought he could feel it radiating off of him in waves. “Your Commander was quite clear about that. I suppose you've been taking lessons from him, too, seeing that you're in my quarters when I want to be alone.”

He felt a stab of guilt and shame. “I...I was worried about you,” he said lamely.

“Well, of course, that makes it all OK, forcing yourself on me using your Starfleet security codes. You Starfleeters always have some happy little justification for the things you inflict on others. Major Kira's life is much more important than mine, your desires also more important than mine. Even Quark is more important than me, so why should I be surprised to find myself at last openly abused after years of suppressed hostility? After all, I'm just a spoonhead.”

Julian gasped aloud. “You can't mean that you think I feel that way about you,” he said.

“You're here against my wishes,” he insisted, glaring so hard it seemed his glacial eyes would bulge from their deep set sockets. “Perhaps there's something else you want, too?” He ripped his tunic open, the fabric tearing along the hooks. “I've been told I have many uses.”

His head spinning from the force of that glare and the unmitigated cruelty of the words, he stumbled back. “I'm leaving now,” he managed to get out. “I'm sorry I've upset you.”

“But things were just getting interesting!” Garak's cold voice followed him as he fled.

Before he even reached his quarters he had started to weep. He couldn't hold it back. He felt literally torn in two. He was grateful he didn't run into anyone along the way, but if he had, it wouldn't have made a difference. Once inside he flung himself across his couch, cradled his head in both arms, and cried as he hadn't since the day he found out his parents had been lying to him for years about who he really was and what had been done to him. He knew that Garak understood why he told Commander Sisko the news about Kira. Why had he insisted on forcing his way into his quarters? Why had he violated him on such a fundamental level? 

Everything Garak had said pained him beyond words, and if the tailor actually believed even half of it? Well, why shouldn't he believe it? Most of it was true, wasn't it? The Commander would use Garak to save his own people if he could. It was his duty, just as it had been Julian's duty to report what he had been told. No matter how much he personally loved Garak, he would never withhold information that could save someone's life to protect him.  _Even if it means sacrificing him in the process?_  What if the Cardassians killed Garak for this? What if Tain did? How would he ever live with himself? 

And hearing that ugly, ugly racial slur coming out of Garak's mouth, it hurt almost worse than what he had done and implied by ripping open his clothing. As a member of a hostile government in foreign territory, he had no status, no power, and no choice but to be used as others saw fit if he wanted to survive. That was the harsh reality of his existence. What if on some level he had acquiesced to Julian's desires last year because he felt he had no choice or because he was so desperate for any friendly face that he would have accepted any genuine offer that came along? Had he taken advantage of a desperate man? If so he was no better than the Cardassian task masters with their comfort women. He felt as though he might be sick.

He cried himself dry and fell asleep face down on his sofa. When he awoke late for work, he discovered that the Defiant had already departed for Cardassian space with Commander Sisko, Odo, and Garak aboard. He was too late to try to apologize or say good-bye. He knew that if he never saw Garak alive again, he would never be able to forgive himself for that fight or for any of the unanswered questions that now hung over his thoughts like a gallows. He went through his day more miserable than he had been in well over a decade, and nothing was sufficient to lift him out of the mood.

He holed up in the infirmary, retreating to his office and burying himself in medical research. He didn't realize how late it had grown when Chief O'Brien ducked his head into his office. “Did you forget?” he asked.

“What?” he blinked and turned bleary eyes on the man, puzzled.

“You forgot,” O'Brien snorted. “We were going to try out that new hang gliding holoprogram of Quark's. We've had it reserved for over a week now, and you know Quark. No refunds.”

“I'm sorry, Chief,” he said. “You go on without me and tell me how it is. I'm just not in the mood.”

“This is about Garak,” the man said darkly. “Look, Julian, you did what you had to do. If the Cardies are holding Major Kira, it can't be for a good reason. She's Bajoran. Who knows what they're doing to her?”

“The Cardies,” he said, feeling a ripple of anger pass through him. “That's really all you see, isn't it? Why don't you go ahead and use the word you're really thinking? Don't hold back on my account.”

O'Brien looked uncomfortable. “I'm not trying to upset you,” he said.

“Of course not,” he retorted, fixing him with a hard stare. “You just think I'm stupid and naïve for involving myself with a stinking spoonhead who would just as soon stab me in the back as look at me, right?”

O'Brien flinched slightly, his pale face, reddening. “Now, look here,” he said sharply.

“No, you look here,” Julian said. “Garak didn't have to come to me with that information about Major Kira at all. He could have sat on it indefinitely and lived his life relatively unmolested on this station with none of us any wiser. Instead, he risked his neck, knowing fully well what the results would be, and now he very well may die because of it, so forgive me if I'm not in the mood to traipse off and pretend nothing is wrong with someone who hates him for no better reason than what race he is. I trust you can see yourself out.”

With his lips pursed tight and his fists balled, the engineer nodded tightly and left without a word. Julian didn't feel himself relax until he was sure he was gone, reaching up a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. At this rate, he was going to find himself as isolated as the tailor. In that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. He was tired of being tolerant of others' biases against Garak. Maybe if he had spoken up sooner, Garak wouldn't have as much reason to feel the way he did. Footsteps outside the office had his back up again. “I thought I told you to...leave,” he said, whirling in his seat and trailing off when he saw not the Chief, but Dax.

Dax glanced around and stayed at the threshold. “Do you want me to leave?” she asked gently.

To his horror, he found his tears of the night before trying to come back again. He bit his tongue nearly to blood before he could answer her with a calm voice. “No, it's all right, Dax. Come on in. Miles and I just exchanged some words.”

“That would explain his beet red face and flashing eyes,” she said musingly, stepping into the office and having the computer close the door behind her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. Yes. I don't know. I...” he trailed off and swallowed. “Dax,” he said, “do you think...do you think I've taken advantage of Garak?”

She seemed as though she would laugh until she saw the look in his eyes. Her brow furrowed. “Oh, Julian,” she said, moving closer and squatting in front of his chair to place a hand on his knee. “Why would you think such a thing? Did Garak say that?”

“Not precisely, but...he said a lot of terrible things that are true, and it got me thinking. He's so horribly alone here. What if I...well, I'm not saying that I did it on a conscious level, but what if I tapped into that...desperation? What if he's only with me because the weight of being alone got to be too much to bear? What if he's afraid that if he doesn't have an ally with the power he sees as being in control that he...” His breath hitched. “That something would happen to him exactly like what has happened anyway?”

He was grateful that she didn't instantly discount the idea out of hand, instead giving it serious thought. “I won't sit here and tell you it isn't possible,” she said softly. “I will say I don't consider it likely.”

“Why not?” he asked, dark eyes locked onto hers.

“Because,” she said, “he could have the same thing without ever becoming your lover. He could have kept you as a friend and gotten everything he needed, companionship and protection, without the added complication of a genuine relationship, or he could have bedded you without ever letting you close to him. He came to you and told you about Kira. He made that decision knowing the consequences. If he thought you were taking advantage of him, would he ever have made such a gesture?”

He wanted to believe that she was right, as what she said did make sense. He knew Garak well enough to know how he held grudges and the large and small ways he had of making someone pay for crossing him or hurting him. “I forced my way into his quarters last night,” he whispered, his cheeks aflame. “I was in the process of using my medical override code when he opened the door.”

“So he let you in,” she said, moving her hand from his knee to his hand and squeezing.

“It's not like I gave him a choice,” he said bitterly. “I was going to barge in there anyway, and he knew that.”

“Then why didn't he just force your hand?” she asked. “Why open the door on his own?”

“I...” he blinked and realized he had no idea. He had been so upset by what followed that he didn't give it any thought at all. “I don't know,” he said, raising his free hand to swipe at his eyes before tears could fall.

“Well, why don't you find out before you beat yourself up completely over this?” she suggested. “The answer may surprise you.”

“Assuming he makes it back in one piece, and assuming he ever wants to talk to me again,” he said shakily.

“Yes, assuming,” she said, giving his hand a final squeeze and standing. “Don't exhaust yourself while he's gone. You'll need your wits about you for that conversation, I'd wager.”

“I'm sure I will,” he said bleakly.

Two days later, they returned, and because of the cosmetic alterations that had been done to Major Kira to make her look Cardassian, the doctor had his hands full, first with genetic tests to confirm that she was indeed Bajoran and then with the painstaking process of returning her to normal. He was polite to the Cardassian who insisted on staying close by her side, Ghemor, but he yearned to go to his Cardassian and find out if he had destroyed things between them irrevocably or if they could salvage anything out of this complete mess.

Three days in a row, he went to the tailor's quarters and rang the hail without getting a response. The shop remained closed. It was as though the man had dropped off the face of the station. Were it not for the computer's assurances that he was in his quarters, Julian would have feared that Garak had fled with Ghemor. Desperate but determined not to violate him ever again, at last he settled on writing him a letter. His Kardassi wasn't the best, but he chose to use the archaic dialect of Preloc that Garak loved so well.

He poured his heart into the words, holding nothing back, because he believed that if he did, Garak would sense it and take the action as just another manipulation. This was the moment of all or nothing, a frightening leap into the void of the unknown. He made it as clear as he could that he expected no response, that he expected nothing at all, and that if Garak wanted to be free of him, he would respect his wishes and do everything in his power to make sure that he wasn't manipulated by anyone in Starfleet again, although he could make no guarantees. He closed the letter with a Cardassian term of endearment that had no direct translation but loosely meant “the servant of your heart,” or “will” as some had interpreted it. With his heart pounding so hard against his sternum that he could feel and hear it, he sent the message.

The hours crawled by. Disconsolately, he finally stripped from his uniform and dressed for bed in the green pajamas Garak had made for him. As much as he had hoped for an answer, he knew that silence was an answer, too, in its own way. He lay in his bed and hugged his pillow to his chest, staring wakefully into the darkness and wondering how he'd ever get accustomed to sleeping alone again. He believed that eventually he must have dozed fitfully, but by morning, he felt exhausted, wrung out, and completely low. He dressed himself with no enthusiasm, checked his communication terminal three times just to be sure he hadn't missed a transmission, and headed for his door without eating breakfast.

When it slid open, Garak nearly bowled him over barging into his room. “What is this?” the tailor demanded, clutching a data rod in his hand. “Your idea of a bad joke?”

“N—no,” he stammered. “I...”

“You couldn't leave well enough alone. Even now, after everything that happened, you couldn't just give me my space!” He looked furious, blue eyes flashing. “You stooped low breaking into my room that night, but now you want to add insult to my injury by badly aping Preloc?”

As he stared into the icy eyes, he remembered what Dax had said. “I didn't break into your room,” he said softly.

“What? Are you going to try to tell me you weren't using your Medical Override code? I had the comm activated, Julian. I heard you. If you're going to lie to me, at least make it plausible.”

“Yes,” he said, “and you opened the door before I could do it. Technically, you let me in.”

“Maybe I didn't want to be forced into something for the second time in one night,” Garak said tightly.

“Or maybe you wanted me there, and you just couldn't admit it, even to yourself.”

“Don't flatter yourself, Doctor,” he snorted. “Is that how you see me? Some pitiable creature so desperate for crumbs that it will lie under the table and tolerate being repeatedly kicked?”

He shook his head. “I'm yours, Elim, to do with as you see fit. If you need to walk away, then walk away. I'll let you go, freely and willingly, and wish you nothing but happiness. But if you want to stay, then you're going to have to accept all of the messiness that goes along with that, including the fact that I care so much about you that sometimes I do entirely the wrong thing with entirely the right intention, including butchering Preloc's Kardassi.”

“You're insufferable,” he said, closing his eyes with a pained expression. “What makes you think I want that kind of love?” When he opened them again, the anger was gone, replaced with something the doctor almost never saw there, confusion. “How am I supposed to react to that? I don't even have a frame of reference for it. Cardassians don't love that way.”

“You expect me to believe that of a people with a phrase like  _ca desst zsu dasda?_ A concept so deep and complex the universal translator can't even make sense of it, and the best that linguistic scholars can do is say, 'the servant of your heart'?”

“Your accent is atrocious,” Garak said, frowning deeply. “That vaunted concept you like so well isn't Cardassian at all. It's Hebitian.”

“I don't understand,” Julian said softly.

“I know you don't. Any more than I understand you and this misplaced devotion of yours. We're too different. Our worlds are too different. All of this that happened will happen again. It'll just get worse. Your Commander has me in a bad position, and now that he has exploited it once I don't believe for an instant he won't do it again. I can't prevent that,” he said, straightening, “but I can prevent you from being caught in the crossfire.”

“Don't do this,” he pleaded. “Not for my sake.”

“My dear, that's the best reason of all. You want to know the true meaning of ca desst zsu dasda? Well, this is it. I'm walking away before this association destroys your career and your life. One day, you'll be...”

“No,” Julian cut him off. “Don't you dare say it. Don't you say 'grateful'. And don't pretend you're doing this for me.” Twin tears coursed down his cheeks unchecked. “I'll do anything for you except be your excuse to isolate yourself. If you intend to make that decision, at least own it for what it is.”

“Fine,” Garak said with a single nod. “Whatever you need to think.” He held out the data rod. “Take it,” he said.

Julian shook his head, no longer trusting his voice. Whatever else came, he refused to break down and make this even harder on both of them than it already was. It might not have been much, but at least he could do that.

Garak passed him and set it on his dining table. “You did the right thing,” he said, “telling Commander Sisko. I'm proud of you. You're a good officer and a good man.” With that he left the room. Julian was crushed. His worst fear had come to pass, and even though he had given everything he had to prevent it, it hadn't been enough. Completely adrift and lost in a world that had stopped making sense, he did the only thing left to him. He reported for duty.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was first posted on LiveJournal on Dec. 13, 2009. It spans the Deep Space 9 episodes "The Search, Part I" through "Second Skin." I made some slight changes to the opening scene of "Equilibrium" to include our favorite tailor in the continuity, but for the most part, as before, I wrote around the episodes to avoid redundancy. The story works as a standalone, but it's also a continuation of what started in “Slow Burn” and continued in “He's No Romeo”.


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